The Phantomess of the Opera
by Evening Starbossa
Summary: What if Erik had a "phantom" watching /his/ every move?
1. The Meeting

**A/N: I'm back! This story is based on a costume I did for a jewelry party/masquerade I helped put together last year. I have tried over and over to write this, but always got stuck. Enter AJ Sims, a friend of mine who surprisingly has never seen the actual movie in its entirety. But through clips I've sent him, stories and information I've given him, and the book, he was able to capture Erik's character enough to help me write this. So, thank you, AJ Sims, my cowriter for this story! As always, I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. Phantomess, however, is my own character.**

**She sat huddled** against the stone wall, tears streaming down her face. On the other side of the mirror, the soprano and her true love were leaving, taking the musician's boat with them. His back was to the mirror, but she knew. She knew his flow of tears was even greater than her own. No doubt about that. He had let her go…even after the kiss…and she had come back only to return the ring—a punch to the stomach when he was already dying.

Now he was turning around, picking up a candlestick as he moved closer. For a moment, he disappeared off to the side, and she heard the unmistakeable sound of shattering glass…once…twice…three times, each one louder.

And then he was right in front of this mirror…her window into his world. Before she could even think of moving deeper into the shadows, the candlestick made contact with the mirror until it was a doorway instead. He stepped into her passageway, pausing only to lower a thick curtain in front of the opening. As he turned back toward her, they made eye contact for the first time. She stared as he stared back. She had always dreamed of this moment, but was not ready for it to happen now. She could only stare into his deep, raging, tearful eyes.

He was the first one to speak, his voice rough from shouting and crying. "Who…are you?" His voice raised slightly and cracked. "What are you doing here?" She could only stare, tears streaming down her face and mask. He stared into those tearful eyes, his lip quivering. He cast a quick glance at the curtain and then back at her. "Get out. The mob will be here soon." He started to trek away from her and she could not believe it as her own voice cried out.

"Stop!" She held her hand out as he slowly turned to her. "I have…a place we can go," She was barely able to get the words out straight. "It's somewhere I've been hiding for a long time…please…" She stood up. "I'll explain everything there." He studied her for several moments, debating as to whether he should ignore her or punish her for her forwardness. But the mob was getting closer. The window for her escape was slamming shut. He let out a heavy sigh—once again that night, he found himself defeated.

"Very well." He slowly took her hand, and she quickly led him further into the darkness.

**Several twists** and turns later, she finally stopped to lift a thin, torn curtain, revealing a doorway. He cautiously stepped inside, instinctively looking around every corner until he was satisfied that it was not a trap. She also moved around the cavern, lighting candles on the walls and on a few tables. The resulting light revealed a cavern about the same size of his work room. It was sparsely furnished, and what little she did have was well worn. Several pieces he recognized from earlier years in the opera house, discarded to make room for the new. Across the room from the sofa, he noticed another opening. Upon glancing through this doorway, he saw a slightly smaller cavern set up as a kitchen. Wooden steps led up from the center of the floor to a doorway several feet up the wall, close to the ceiling. Opposite these stairs was yet another doorway, leading to a tiny room with only room for a makeshift bed. Next to this doorway was a narrow, almost hidden passageway from which he could hear the sound of running water. Following it, he reached the bank of an underground stream, fed from a small pool surrounding an underground spring. The stream, he realized, must be one of several sources for his own lake.

"Help yourself, Monsieur…you look like you could use a drink of water…" He whirled around to see her holding out a tin cup, somewhat dented. He slowly took it and dipped it into the stream, taking a single, hesitant sip. The coolness of it washed down his burning throat, and before he knew what he was doing, he had downed three cupfulls. She gently took the cup from his hand as he lowered it to his side tiredly. "Please…come sit down…" She took his hand once more, leading him back into the main room, and he lowered himself to the sofa while she chose an arm chair off to the side.

"Mademoiselle…you have not answered my questions. Who are you?"

"You…may call me Phantomess…" As she spoke, he scoffed.

"You are not the Phantomess any more than I am the Phantom. You have a name. You will tell me it."

"Will you tell me yours?" Again, her words surprised her, hut she did not back down, no matter how long he studied her.

"Very well. We will return to that matter later. Now you will tell me what you are doing here…in my caverns…."

"It…it is a long story, Monsieur…"

"I have time, Mademoiselle, but very little patience."

"Very well…" She sighed. "I…was born into a large family…in a small cottage in the countryside. We were very close…I always felt loved…but we were isolated. I watched my two older sisters get married, settle down, start their own families…they are happy, monsieur…but it's all the same as how we grew up…I…I wanted something more…something different. But I couldn't tell them…I couldn't hurt them. I knew that if I said anything…that they would try to talk me out of it…tell me I didn't know what I was talking about, or try to change my mind…

"So I left. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was asleep. I only told them not to worry…and that I loved them…I put the note on the kitchen table…my mother would be the first to see it…" her voice cracked and wavered as her tears started up again. His face showed no sympathy, however, and he simply stared until she regained her voice. "That was five years ago. For two years I wandered around France, until I finally came here to Paris. I was in an alleyway behind the opera house stables…I heard a kitten meowing…so I followed the sound…it was a calico, trapped underneath an upside down crate…as soon as I picked it up, I…I felt the ground sinking beneath me, as if I were going through a trap door. I fell…several feet…landing on a pile of old rags…But I couldn't focus on my pain for very long…I heard faint music echoing off the walls…so I followed the sound through the darkness until I came to what I thought was a window…That's when I first saw you."

"So…you've been…watching me for three years? Why did you not just go back to your…loving family?" The last two words were spat at her in a mocking, bitter tone.

"I couldn't…"

"Those stairs in the kitchen. Where do they lead?" At this, she felt her face go pink sheepishly.

"The back of the pantry…to the opera house kitchen…"

"So you could leave, Mademoiselle. Do not lie to me."

"I didn't lie…I could not go back there…and I could not just leave behind the hurting man I saw."

"Why not? Everyone else has." He looked away from her then, his eyes watering once more(or perhaps they had never stopped.).

"I'm not them." She rose to her feet then, moving into her bedroom and retrieving her topmost blanket and a throw pillow she had made. Upon her return to the main room, she almost laughed at the sight before her. The Phantom was sitting up straight, completely frozen but looking as if he were about to bolt any moment. The kitten, now fully grown, had emerged from one of her many hiding places and lept up into his lap. She was now purring as she kneeded his pants, and his only movement was to twist his face into cringes and winces. "I see you've met Carmilla…"

"Get it off."

"_She_ isn't hurting you, Monsieur."

"That's what you think."

"Pat her." He looked as if she had just told him to stick his hand in a fire. "Go on…" She threw him an encouraging smile, and slowly his hand moved to stroke Carmilla's back. Immediately, the feline's back arched into his touch, her purr growling louder.

"Is she…growling at me?"

"No, Monsieur. She's singing." At that, his eyes widened, but he remained silent as he listened. Just as silently, she draped the blanket around his shoulders. He stiffened slightly, but as his mind was preoccupied at the moment, he could do nothing to stop her. The pillow, she placed against the arm of the sofa. "Good night, Monsieur." Smiling, she went back into her bedroom.

**A/N: More to come soon! Feedback is always welcome! Thanks!**


	2. Getting Acquainted

**A/N: As promised, here's more! Once again, I own nothing but Phantomess!**

**The next morning**, she emerged to find him sound asleep, Carmilla curled up under his chin. She giggled a bit before going into the kitchen to start breakfast. There was still plenty of bread and fruit, and just enough ham for them both. Coffee…yes, there was plenty of that.

As the scents of breakfast preparations filled the kitchen, the Phantom appeared in the doorway, preceded quickly by a hungry Carmilla. Smiling, she threw a bit of ham to the cat, who ate it eagerly before going after a rat she'd seen in the corner of the room. The Phantom stayed in the doorway, watching her. "With smells like this, it's a wonder how I never smelled you cooking food all the way in my lair…"

"Are you hungry, Monsieur?" She handed him a cup of coffee, and as he took it, something changed in his face.

"It…was you, wasn't it? You left food in my lair…"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"How did you get in?"

"I found the latch. It was then I realized that it was a mirror and not a window." She then busied herself with filling two plates with the food and putting them on the table. Slowly, he lowered himself to one of the stools as she poured herself some coffee and sat down.

"So…you had access to my lair…you have so little here. Why did you not take any furniture or provisions?"

"It was not mine. I do not take what is owned by others."

"Oh? Well then, what of this food and everything else you have?"

"The food…was to survive, for the both of us. As for the rest, they were discarded."

"You could have stayed…why did you go back into hiding?" At this, she lowered the rest of her bread to her plate, swallowing what was in her mouth.

"I did not know how you would react…knowing that you were not the only one down here…"

"So you were afraid of me, as everyone else is."

"No…not as everyone else…I was afraid…that you would reject my help…my friendship…"

"I would not have rejected it, Mademoiselle. I would have welcomed it."

"I…I didn't know…I'm sorry…"

"You watched me for three years, and you did not know my loneliness? Perhaps with your large loving family, you would not recognize it." The bitterness in his voice matched the coffee he now angrily sipped at, his food still untouched.

"I did recognize it…I…I heard it in your music…and…whenever I heard you screaming and sobbing in the night…I…I wanted to help…I wanted to comfort you…but I couldn't…I just couldn't!"

"WHY?" He slammed his coffee cup down on the table, several drops landing in his plate and on the table around it. "Why couldn't you?"

"I couldn't intrude on your space…It…it's just not me to just go up to someone and hug them…besides…if I had, can you honestly be certain that you would not have flung me to the floor?" As he thought this over, his glare softened slightly.

"Fair enough. But I still would have liked someone to have been there."

"I know, Monsieur….that's why I left the food. It was as close as I could get…" They stared at each other for several moments, the tension slowly dissipating.

"Thank you," He mumbled finally.

"You're welcome." Slowly he lifted the bread to his lips, and the remainder of breakfast was eaten in silence.

**For the remainder** of the day, the Phantom stayed on the sofa. He refused lunch, lost in the thoughts and memories that tortured him. He had stopped crying, but only because he had run out of tears. Towards the evening, Phantomess approached him with a broken violin. He stared at it, confused, but he had no voice to question it. "I found this upstairs a while ago…I…don't play, but I thought I could use it for something else. I never did…I…want you to have it." As she placed it in his lap, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands.

"Was there a bow?" She handed it to him, and he studied the instrument some more. "I'll need fresh strings…some tools…"

"I'll have a look upstairs, if you want…"

"Please do."

**A couple hours** later, she came back down, carrying a burlap sack full of tools and scraps of wood. She set it down beside the sofa, and he looked through it carefully. "Was she there?"

"I…didn't see her. I hardly saw anyone…"

"How bad is it?"

"Very…what happened, Monsieur?"

"I burned it."

"You—"

"Burned it, Mademoiselle. I burned it to teach the managers a lesson. They refused to obey me, time and time again, despite my warnings. I had no choice."

"You did, Monsieur. You always had a choice."

"What do you think of me now, Mademoiselle? Am I still the man you thought I was?" There was a proud smirk on his face, but she tried to ignore it.

"Yes. As I said, Monsieur, we all make mistakes, and we are all deserving of the same forgiveness."

"I don't want forgiveness…not from anyone…not even myself. I only want forgiveness from her, and now she's gone." He sniffled then, but no tears fell. "Leave me." He set to work on the violin, and she returned to her bedroom.

**He did not** recall falling asleep that night. But then, he never allowed himself to sleep on purpose, knowing what awaited him in his nightmares. Even so, the sobbing he heard drew him out of whatever slumber he was in. His eyes now opened, he knew it was not another nightmare. The crying was real, and not his own. _Ah. The little Phantomess._ He had cried so many nights that he could distinguish what kind of sobbing she was crying now…it was not one of freight, so it could not be a nightmare. Nor was it pain, so she was not injured. No, those were wails of loneliness and loss. Much deeper. Much more familiar to him. _I don't care. She never comforted me. Why should I go to her?_ He crossed his arms over his chest and forced his eyes shut. The weeping, however, only became louder, more persistent. _Curses._ He sighed and rose to his feet, making his way to her bedchamber. "What is it?" Somewhat startled, she looked up from her pillow, her knees curled up to her stomach.

"I…did not mean to disturb you…"

"It is a little late for that. You might as well tell me."

"I…miss my family…" _Figures._ He rolled his eyes, not caring if she noticed.

"You don't have to. You can go back whenever you wish."

"No…I cannot…it's not that easy…"

"Nothing is keeping you here! You are not my prisoner!"

"I'm not done here yet. If I go back now…I won't ever be able to return here…"

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Yes." She was looking into his eyes now, and he felt himself sliding down to the floor.

"So…you choose the darkness. You choose what I was forced into, and you run from everything I've only been able to dream about. And now you shed tears to earn my sympathy." He scoffed. "That, you will never have."

"I don't want anything from you, Monsieur. I shed these tears without expectation, as you did."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to me! That mask you wear does not fool me. Not once have you said that your face brought fear and loathing to your mother. No. You said you were loved, and that would be impossible if you had a face like mine. I suggest you stop mocking me and remove that mask." Her hand went to her mask then, but she did not lift it off.

"I would never want to mock you, Monsieur. True, I do not have a face like yours, but I do have my reasons for this mask." Tension filled the room then. Part of him wanted to rip it off right then and there. But he was not Christine—he would not betray her.

"Very well. I am not so cruel and heartless that I would force you to remove it, then. But you will find that that is as kind as I am going to be."

"I very much doubt that, Monsieur. I saw how kind you can be…the way you cared about…that girl…the soprano…"

"Her name is Christine. And you will never speak of her again."

"Yes, Monsieur…" Her head went down, and her hand moved from her mask to a cameo pendant on her neck.

"What's that?"

"This was my grandmother's…she…gave it to me before she died…it…helps me remember my family and where I'm from…" He again rolled his eyes, and this time, she noticed. "Why do you hate my family?"

"It is not them that I hate. It is more the fact that you felt that their love was not enough. They gave you everything, and you rejected them."

"I didn't! Of course I love them, Monsieur…and I will go back…"

"When? You've been away from them for five years. How much longer will it take for you to realize that you cannot get a life better than what you left behind?"

"Perhaps…I just need someone to teach me that…to tell me what it's like…without that…"

"Meaning me, I suppose."

"Only if you want to."

"I might as well. You know everything else." He took a deep breath, willing his tears to stay back. He had to make this brief…and as matter-of-fact as possible. She had seen enough of his weakness. "I was born with this face. My mother hated me because of it. I was sold to the gypsies, and for ten years I was put on display in their fair. They called me the Devil's Child. I was beaten and mocked in every way possible, until I could take it no more. I strangled my so-called master. One of the ballerinas from the opera house saw, and she hid me here. She's now the ballet mistress….Antoinette Giry. She's the only one who cared whether I lived or died, and even she is fearful of me…of my darkness." He sighed as he finished—a few tears had managed to fall as he revisited his past once again. "I thought Christine would be like her, when I first saw her in the chapel ten years ago. She was crying…she was lonely…as I was…I..I thought…we could share it…"

"When you looked into her eyes when you took her into your cave, what did you see? I know that behind the mask is a very intelligent mind—think…did you see a docile, passive sheep? Or a captured, frightened eagle? Now what do you see in my eyes? I see in your eyes a caged lion—because it was imprisoned and put up for show when it was young, it's now angry at the world…and it cannot see past its cage because no one has ever cared to unlock the door. I wish you would see in my eyes a young wolf; looking out for whom she pleases, willing to go wherever they wish to go, and never straying." She slowly reached her hand out toward his shoulder. "No one deserves what you went through, Monsieur. But look at the man you have become. You are talented, passionate, deep, thoughtful, hurting…and you're not alone. Not anymore."

"For those three years you watched me, your view was limited. You could not see what I did on the surface…in the opera house…"

"It doesn't matter. What you did up there, it was for a show…to draw attention to your presence. But here…where you thought no one could see…that's when you were you…the real you."

"The things I did are still part of me."

"Yes…they are a part of you…a small part. But they do not make you a monster. "

"Tell me something, little Phantomess. Am I your…mission? Your project? What do you hope to accomplish here?"

"All I want is for you to be happy, Monsieur. But you are not just a project to me. I do care about you, as a fellow human being…a friend…"

"If that is what you want, you'll be here for a lifetime. I was only happy with her, and now she's gone."

"You can't base your happiness on a person, Monsieur. It's not fair to them to put that pressure on them, and sooner or later, they'll let you down."

"No. Not her."

"Yes, even her. Look at what she did to you…"

"I did it to myself. I lied to her…she…she had every right to betray me…to leave me…" More tears, though he made no move to erase them.

"You make it sound like she was perfect…"

"She was! She still is!"

"Monsieur, she is not! No human being is perfect…she's not one of your drawings or…or that doll of her that you built. She's a living human being, free to choose as she wishes. And no matter how you train her, no matter how much you try to mold her, there's always going to be a few cracks as she tries to break free!" Immediately after she said this, her left cheek stung with the slap he delivered.

"How dare you! You don't know her! You don't know me! You're just a little eavesdropping runaway who's going to do her bit of charity work before leaving me as alone as I've always been! You of all people will not tell me how she felt about me, nor what our love is like!"

"Forgive me, Monsieur…it…it wasn't my place…I…apologize…for stepping out of line…" She held her cheek as if her very touch could take away the pain, but the stinging ran much deeper than her face.

"Go home, little Phantomess." He stood once more. "Go home and get it over with. I don't need your help. I don't need anyone but her." He turned away from her flood of tears, making his way back to the sofa.

**The next few** weeks were filled with more silence than she had ever known. She left her room only to prepare meals. She did not dare speak to him, so she left his portions on the table or in the food pit in the kitchen floor when it was meat or cheese. Sometimes he ate. Other times, he left the food on the table for so long that Carmilla, tired of merely smelling the taunting fragrances, would jump up and eat it herself.

Phantomess realized as the days passed that this was far worse than being on the wrong side of the mirror from him. Here he was, in her home, yet he was far more unreachable than ever before. Some nights she was kept up by his sobbing, sometimes by the sound of his new violin. Either way, she hardly got any sleep. But if she went to listen to his playing, he would stop as soon as he saw her. If she went to hug him as he sobbed, he would shove her away. _So this is rejection. This is what he has known all his life. This is his loneliness._ Finally, she understood. _How can I help?_

She recalled the first time she'd ever asked that. Back home, it was expected of her to help. She'd never had to ask. But this first time, all on her own, she had stopped by a house belonging to a large family, all five of the children very young. The parents had kindly fed her and let her stay the night. The next morning, she came to the breakfast table and had immediately become engulfed in the chaos and confusion the mother endured every day. And so, without touching a bite of food, the question was out of her mouth. "How can I help?" The mother had stared at her, blinking and tired. She had given her guest the easiest task, but when she saw how genuinely willing she was, she gave her more. They had offered to let her stay longer, but she'd refused, feeling led further away.

_I want to help you._ She thought toward him. But he would not accept it. That much was made clear a month later, when he moved back into his own lair.

**A/N: More soon! Thanks in advance for reviewing!**


	3. Moving Back

**A/N: Told ya more would come soon! LOL Again, I own nothing but Phantomess! This chapter includes more help from AJ Sims…he gave Phantomess more boldness than I could ever put in her! **

**He left without** warning, and so she had emerged from her room to see the sofa empty, the Phantom and his violin nowhere in sight. Frantically, she'd searched the passageways until she came to the broken mirror. He was sitting at the lake with his back to her, holding his music box. Slowly, she crept up beside him. "Monsieur?" He did not face her, but he sighed.

"I have got to fix that mirror. Only this time, no latch."

"And then what? Just stay down here to die alone, the rest of the world locked out?"

"You find something wrong with that, little Phantomess?"

"Monsieur, like it or not, we are in this together. You locking me out does not change that. I am staying for as long as I see that I need."

"Stubborn little viper. I told you to go home! You claim to want to be my friend, yet you cannot obey the simplest command." He turned to face her then, his voice a low growl, and, though he'd called her a viper, his were the eyes that resembled that of a cobra about to strike.

"I'm not leaving, so you might as well go ahead and strike. The only reason, Monsieur, that you are shunned in darkness…that you don't get sympathy is because you push it away." She was mad…sad…nearly to the point of tears as she continued. "You say you want friendship. I'm here! You long to be longed for. I'm here!" She angrily splayed her arms out to her sides. "Go ahead! Strike! I give you what you long for…for three years I tried…and you won't accept it…strike." The place that was the prison of his mind was silent.

Except for the music box. They both listened, frozen in their positions. "Masquerade...paper faces on parade…" He lowered his head and wept. "She was perfect…" As Phantomess watched him, she felt her eyes closing for a moment. In relief? In hurt? She was frozen in her spot, catching her breath, but she could not just stand there watching him. The mirror was gone. No more excuses. Slowly, she approached him. He did not look up. Perhaps he did not notice her. That was going to change right now.

Her arms slid around his shoulders as she gently pulled him into the hug she had only been able to dream of giving. He did not push her away. Perhaps he was too weak to. But his shoulders relaxed beneath her ever so gradually. He slowly set down the music box and clung to her, weeping into her black-caped shoulders.

They stayed like that for a long time. Time itself seemed to stretch on for eons. "You know," She said softly after the moment was closing, "She may have been perfect, but there is one crucial thing she didn't have." The Phantom did not glare, but he looked up at her with child-like, tear-riddled eyes.

"And what…is that?" He croaked.

"A willingness to stay."

"It's my fault she didn't…I…I failed her…"

"No…you didn't fail her Monsieur. You…gave her the comfort she needed…you trained her voice…you gave her hope…" As she spoke, she found herself somewhat rubbing, somewhat stroking his shoulders, an action she'd done often when comforting her younger siblings, but never imagined doing here, with him. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to notice or care…if anything, he relaxed even more. "You're not a failure. You were a wonderful teacher…a good friend…and a good listener…"

"I'll miss her…I'll miss her voice…"

"Perhaps she will return once the opera house is repaired…"

"And then what? Am…I supposed to just…remain down here...and…not go to her?"

"Well is that not what you were planning on? Locking me out? The rest of the world? Her?"

"I deserve to be without her, Phantomess…it is not what I want…I…I want to see her again…erase my mistakes…I…I want to do things right."

"Monsieur, I know that you don't want to hear this…but you did the right thing in letting her go…" She subtly braced herself for another slap, but it did not come. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look tearfully into her eyes.

"Then whey doesn't it feel right?" The question was rhetorical, but she found herself answering anyway.

"Because you're hurting…your heart is breaking…she gave you a wonderful gift…the chance to know what love feels like…but it wasn't the kind of love you wanted or deserved. It was friendship love…but you wanted more…you deserve more…" Softly crying a bit herself, she gently brushed at his tears with her thumb, and as her hand made contact with his deformity, his eyes closed, and he leaned slightly into her touch. "But in order to fully experience that deeper love…you need to let her go in your heart."

"I…I can't…" his hand came up to hers and held it to his face, his eyes flooding even more.

"I know you can't…not now…but someday… and I promise, Monsieur, that I won't leave you before that happens. You can't get rid of me that easy." A small smile appeared on her face, and he slowly returned it before sobbing on her shoulder once again.

**The next few months** were like a dream come true for Phantomess. Without the mirror, she was free to move back and forth between the two lairs, giving him the privacy and space he desired while allowing for the warmth and comfort he needed.

She knew, however, that he didn't fully accept her just yet. They spoke very little to each other except for that which had already been said. Christine, she realized, was on far too high a pedestal in his heart. To throw her off would be cruel. And so, although it wasn't said clearly, he began building stairs up to her from the bottom. With each encouraging statement from Phantomess that he took as truth, a new step came into existence. Eventually, Christine would be able to walk down safely. But until then…well, that was what Phantomess was there for. To be sure, there were times when the steps leveled off or crumbled altogether. Once, there were two that disappeared completely.

It was the drawings. She knew they were a hindrance to his progress—how could he let go of someone when he was completely surrounded by her image daily? Perhaps she'd spoken too soon. Perhaps she should have allowed it to continue for another month or so. But she also knew that that would only hurt him more, making it all the harder to let go. Letting it continue would only make his outburst worse than what it was as she suggested it now, as he threw music stands and candelabras all over the lair, sending Phantomess to the mirror doorway. She watched as he gathered up the drawings, clutching them protectively to his chest. With a glare sharper than she'd ever seen on his face before, he looked right at her, seemingly through to her bones. "YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HER."

Any other girl…any other human being or even crawling ant would scurry clear to America in response to such a tone. But any other girl was not Phantomess. She saw through the fear-instilling face and saw the fear he had himself. Her heart softened all the more, but that did not diminish the boldness rising up inside her. Slowly, she stepped forward. The only thing that changed in his face was a raised eyebrow, perhaps he also clutched the drawings tighter. She reached forward. He stiffened, about to slap her or scold her. "I won't touch them." She placed her hand on his shoulder, and he looked down at it. "I'm not going touch the drawings, nor am I asking you to destroy such exquisite art. I am merely suggesting that you put them away. Not for forever. Only until you let her go…only when you learn to separate drawing from model. These drawings are not her. As you do not seem to realize that yet, I'll not bring it up anymore. But you needed to hear it, Monsieur."

His gaze moved from her hand to her eyes, and when he saw the truth in them, he relaxed with a sigh. "Very well. You may store these in your lair. I only ask that I keep one." He shuffled through the stack, choosing a charcoal profile of the singer. Phantomess looked at it and nodded.

"Of course, Monsieur. I thank you for trusting me."

"Do not cause me to distrust you, Mademoiselle. I assure you, you will never regain it once it is lost."

"I know." She smiled encouragingly as he handed her the pile, and she left him to ponder her words.

**A/N: That's all I have typed for now, but I'll try to get another chapter up tomorrow at the latest! Thanks again for reviewing!**


	4. A Birthday to Remember

**A/N: You all have no idea how much I appreciate your reviews! As always, I own nothing but Phantomess!**

**Another few** months passed, and before she knew it, she'd been there four years. She was not sure if she should say anything to him about it or not. The removal of the drawings had had the effect she'd hoped for; he was much closer to letting go of Christine. However, it seemed that the closer he got, the emptier he seemed. Today, as she delivered his lunch, she found him in the same position she often found him now—sitting at the organ, staring blankly at the pipes, his hands on his lap. Silently, she went to set the plate down on his work table. "Bring it here." Turning around, she saw that he had still not moved. Almost, she asked how he'd known. Almost. But remembering who he was, she pushed the question aside and approached the organ. The page in front of him was blank…as blank as his face. She set the plate down next to the keys, and only then did he look her way. "What's on your mind?"

"Monsieur?"

"You're thinking about something. What is it?"

"It…it's nothing much…"

"Tell me anyway." It was an order, but in his eyes, she saw a pleading…a hunger…a searching for something to grasp onto.

"I've been here four years today."

"And how do you plan on marking the occasion?"

"I hadn't thought of that…in the past, I've just….told Carmilla…and…baked something sweet…" She glanced down for a bit before looking back up at him. "The day I fell…the day I came here…was my birthday. That's how I remember…today I'm twenty-two years old."

"I…I see…" his head went down, and she inwardly kicked herself, knowing that she had just made mention something he had missed out on all his life. But before she could apologize, he continued in a voice that seemed quite distant. "Tell me something, Phantomess. What causes you to celebrate each year you're alive? What is it that you enjoy seeing or experiencing so much that it…keeps you going? What is it you do that causes you to want to do it for yet another year? What is your purpose…your dream…your life?"

"It's many things, Monsieur…but it's changed only slightly since before I left home. Helping my family and serving others…it…made me feel useful…that I mattered. Now, it's helping you. I celebrate each year of my life because it means God isn't done with me yet. He still has plans for me…we only have a short time here. One life, and then it's over…"

"When it's no longer helping me, Phantomess, then what? Are you to return home and leave me?"

"I honestly don't know…"

"Does it scare you…the unknown?"

"Only a little. No, I don't know what He has for me next…but I know that whatever it is, good will come from it."

"She was mine, Phantomess. She was it…my purpose…my life. Now, there's nothing left. There is no more music…there's nothing. We are in this chapter of our lives together…how is it that even though we're sitting here looking at the same blank page, you are able to see a glimmer of something, and I see…nothingness?"

"I'm not sure exactly…I try to see things through God's eyes…"

"Then how can you look upon this…creature that I am with…with such tenderness?"

"That's how God sees you. It says in the Bible that His precious thoughts toward each and every one of us outnumber the grains of sand."

"How can he case me to be born like this…to cause me to go through my life tortured and abandoned…and still dare to claim that He…loves me?"

"He loves you because He created you…just as you loved those drawings and her voice because you shaped them…put some of yourself into each one. That's why I could never ask you to destroy them. In a way, the drawings are like your children, and while some might not fully understand them, you do…you know the reason for every line, dot, and mark in that drawing."

"Why, then, did He not protect me as I protect my drawings? Why allow the torture?" His tone now was angry and bitter, but his eyes were even more searchful.

"You cannot fully blame God for the tortures and sufferings you have gone through. Do not mistake the sinful actions of man for the actions of God. He never gives us more than we can handle. You're living proof of that, because you are alive. If He wanted you dead, you'd not be here now. Trials and sufferings are a part of life, as much a part of it as the good things. They are there to make us stronger…to grow…to be able to comfort others going through the same things. Perhaps you were made lonely so that you could comfort Christine…perhaps…you went through all you did so that you would turn to God…let Him be your hope…your comfort…your happiness…"

"Perhaps." The single word was full of deep thought—like he did not fully reject nor accept her words just yet. He turned back to face the blank paper in front of her. "I still don't have any music to put on this page, however."

"I'm sure you will think of something, Monsieur. Don't give up." With an encouraging smile and shoulder squeeze, she rose to her feet and returned to her lair. She had baking to do.

**That evening**, the Phantom experienced his first taste of chocolate cake. Phantomess insisted that they would share their birthday, and so she also presented him with a pillow and scarf she'd made. He stared at the gifts blankly…stunned. "I…don't have anything for you, Mademoiselle…" he managed.

"That's quite alright, Monsieur…I have everything I need…" For a moment, after she said this, however, her hand went to the cameo necklace.

"Wait here." He rose to his feet and disappeared into his bedchamber. Upon his return , he had something hidden in his hand. "Hold out your arm, and close your eyes." When she did, she felt something wrap around her wrist. "You may look." Her eyes opened, and she gasped. Upon her wrist was a small charm bracelet. The chain was black, resembling twisting vines, and the charms were tiny ruby roses.

"Monsieur…it…it's gorgeous!" She looked up at him, and a smile slowly spread across his face. "I…couldn't possibly…"

"You deserve it, Phantomess. I might not fully be happy about my existence, but…I am thankful…that you are here to help me…" Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hugged him tightly, a few tears starting to fall.

"Thank you, Monsieur…I'll cherish this forever…"

"I'm sure you will." He slowly hugged her back.

** About a week later**, Phantomess was fixing a simple lunch when she heard a meowing from above. Puzzled, she slowly followed the sound up the stairs. Upon opening the door, a calico blur rushed past her onto the stairs. "Carmilla?" The cat merely looked up at her innocently, and she smiled. "I guess I need to be more careful when I run my errands, hmm? Silly cat…" Giggling, she picked up the feline and carried her downstairs.

As time passed, Phantomess found herself worrying about Carmilla more and more. Her furry friend had grown heavier, and she began acting very strangely. One day, she disappeared altogether, and as the week passed, there was still no sign of her. Finally, she decided to let the Phantom know—perhaps he could help. And so, that afternoon, she visited him between meals—something she never did unless he was crying. He looked at her, somewhat surprised and confused. "Monsieur…"

"What's wrong?" He made his way over to her.

"It's Carmilla…I haven't seen her in a week…"

"I see…I'm sure she will turn up…these caverns are vast in number. Perhaps she is exploring…"

"I doubt it, Monsieur…she…she seems to have grown ill…" As the Phantom watched her tears appear, he knew that Carmilla was more than just a cat to her. He recalled the circus monkey that had grown attached to him at the fair, and how devastated he had been when he got sold elsewhere. With a sigh, he gently touched her shoulder and brushed at her tears.

"I'll help you look."

"Thank you…" His response was a silent, understanding nod, and the two began their search.

Hours later, they returned to his lair, Phantomess more discouraged than ever. The Phantom gently sat her down on his bed, brushing at her tears some more. Just as he was about to suggest she get some rest, they both heard soft meowing coming from the other side of the bed. Peering over the edge, they found Carmilla sleeping comfortably on her side on top of several scattered music sheets and a pile of clothes. But what really drew their attention were the five tiny balls of fur, fighting each other for a drink of milk. As soon as they realized what had happened, they both fell onto the bed, laughing almost hysterically.

Moments later, Phantomess sat up, wiping at her tears. "I…I guess even Carmilla needed to find her own 'something more'…"

"I suppose so, Phantomess…and now she's found it. Have you found yours?" He looked at her, his eyes still laughing, but the question was there, in all seriousness.

"I believe I have…" She looked into his eyes as she spoke, and he smiled a bit longer before turning back to the kittens. One, he noticed, looked smaller than the rest, and it kept having to fight for a drink. Only when its brothers and sisters began nodding off did it get its fair share. The Phantom made a mental note to keep an eye on that little one, although he had absolutely no idea why he cared so much.

**Two months later**, it was the Phantom's turn to worry. Phantomess hadn't delivered his breakfast. At first, he shrugged it off as a mere shortage of food, but when she didn't appear for lunch or supper, not even to explain, he slowly made his way back to her lair. There were no smells in the kitchen, not even a fire. He carefully entered her bedchamber, where he found her shaking and shining with sweat. "Phantomess?" he knelt down and felt her forehead, and he immediately drew his hand back from the heat. Her blankets were tossed aside, but her thick black dress was making that attempt to cool off useless.

He found a scrap of cloth and took it to the stream, letting it soak in more than enough of the cold water before bringing it back and placing it on her forehead. The mask, however, was not helping. But he refused to just take it off of her. "Phantomess…can you hear me?"

"M—monsieur…"

"I need to take off your mask…is that alright?" Slowly, weakly, she nodded.

"It's…burning my face…" The Phantom gently lifted the mask off of her, not sure what to expect. He was definitely not expecting to see what he did find. Her face was perfectly smooth and symmetrical, aside from a slight indentation outlining the shape of the mask. He softly traced the right side of her face with his hand before rubbing the cold cloth across it. She had said she'd had her reasons for the mask. But what were they? There wasn't a single blemish or scar…nothing that would cause her to be shamed into hiding it. But he couldn't be angry with her. Not now. He kept moving the cloth around on her face and neck, refusing to think about anything except making her better.

**Over the next** two days, her temperature slowly went down. However, she was still very weak, often clutching her stomach and sides in pain. He'd moved her to his own bed the first night, but it seemed the only good that did was make it easier for him to be by her side. He only left to fix her soups and teas, but they provided only temporary help. "Is this how you're to leave me, little Phantomess? Are you to die and leave me alone?" he whispered to her one night as she slept. "I'm not ready for that…"

The next morning, she slowly removed her cameo necklace and placed it in his hand. "It's a locket…open it…" As he did, he saw a tiny scrap of paper, upon which was written, "DuMont. Village of D'Lacy, France." He looked at her, and she smiled ever so slightly. "Remember how I said…that helps me remember?"

"Yes…I recall that…"

"I…I think it's time…for me to go back…" Seeing him start to panic and about to protest, she continued, "I…want you…to take me there…" Slowly, he relaxed.

"Of course. I'll arrange for a carriage immediately." At this, she smiled more before drifting off to sleep.

**A/N: I have no idea if the Village of D'Lacy actually exists/existed. This was me being too lazy to look up an 1870 map of France. LOL Feedback is, as always, more than welcome! Stay tuned!**


	5. Coming Home

**A/N: What? Last chapter already? Guess that's how things go…as always, I own nothing but Phantomess.**

**"DuMont,"** The driver called back to his passengers three days later. The Phantom pulled aside the curtain and noted just how small the cottage was. It was late evening, and he could see figures moving inside, a few young faces peering out at the carriage. The driver unloaded the few pieces of luggage, including a makeshift cage for Carmilla and her kittens. Slowly, the Phantom carried Phantomess out of the carriage. After paying the driver, he approached the front door. Before he could knock, it swung open, revealing a short, plump woman.

"May I help you?" Her eyes were huge, showing just where Phantomess had gotten hers.

"You must be her mother…" he nodded to the girl in his arms, and as the woman studied her, the eyes only grew larger.

"Marie…" she whispered.

"Is that her name?"

"Yes…where did you find her? What's wrong with her?"

"She found me…in Paris. I'm not sure what is wrong…she fell ill a little over a week ago."

"Please…come inside…" the woman moved aside to allow his entrance, and he cautiously stepped inside. As the woman called out instructions to the residents of the cottage, it seemed that no one really noticed him. All their focus was on their long-lost sister, and as soon as he'd laid her on her bed, he was forced to the doorway, then the main room as her family crowded around her. He looked at the front door. The carriage was still waiting. He could go back…he could go back and she would be fine. Now that she had helped him, she could go on with her life…get married, raise children…forget about him…

But perhaps that wasn't the point. What would he be going back to? An empty, dark lair beneath a burned-down opera house? Before, he didn't really mind the thought. But now that he knew her…now that he knew that she really did care about him…he knew he could not walk away when she had never walked away from him.

He went outside to the carriage, and the driver went to open the door. "I thank you, Monsieur, but I will be staying here. " The driver raised his eyebrow. "I know we agreed to a round trip. Here is what I would have owed you, and I thank you for your trouble." He placed several coins in the driver's hand, and he shrugged.

"Very well, Monsieur…good evening." As he got back into his seat, the Phantom returned inside. Madame DuMont was in the main room, and when she saw him, she smiled.

"I was hoping you hadn't left before I could thank you."

"It was the least I could do after all she's done for me, Madame."

"And what would that be, exactly?" Madame DuMont lowered herself to a sofa, and the Phantom joined her.

**She awoke a week** later. He was sitting by her bed, her tiny hand clutched between both of his as he wept. When he saw that she was awake, his face changed—though he still wept, he smiled in sheer relief. Something was…different. "I prayed." He barely whispered. "Your father taught me. I…I prayed for myself…and for you…He saved us both…" Tears welled up in her own eyes, and she grasped his hands with her free one.

"That's wonderful, Monsieur…."

"Erik….it's only fair. I learned your name, Marie. It's time you knew mine." Marie looked around the room, it finally dawning on her that she was home.

"What have I missed?" The question was asked in awe, and as Erik wiped at his tears, he provided the answer. He told of how Marie's family had explained that God had protected him…how He had provided a safe haven which Erik had considered a living hell. They'd explained how God had shown just how much He loved him by sacrificing His only Son on the cross so that he didn't have to just secretly yearn for Heaven—he could enter it, not based on the good or bad things he'd done, but just by trusting in Him.

As Marie listened, she couldn't believe that this was the same man she'd first seen four years ago. Yet there was one thing very much the same—before, he had been the wandering child tormented in a cold, dark prison. Now, he was a child come home, practically beaming with childlike faith and hope in whatever was to come.

**Months passed, **and Marie fully recovered. They never did discover what had caused her illness. The best answer they could come up with came surprisingly from Erik. "Perhaps it was God telling her that it was time to come home."

As Erik learned more about God from Monsieur DuMont and from studying the family Bible, he used his salary money to fund expanding and improving the cottage. While it got significantly larger, he made sure that it never lost its cozy feel. He also made several small instruments, beginning with a violin, and he taught Marie's four younger siblings how to play them.

One day, Marie went out to the barn, where she knew he would be with Carmilla and her kittens. Yes, there he was, playing with "Little Phantom" and a piece of straw. The runt of Carmilla's litter had become Erik's pet, and she could see why; the kitten was mostly black, but on the right side of his face was a white patch around his eye down to his chin. "Good afternoon, Erik…" she lowered herself to the floor next to Carmilla, and the calico mother immediately curled up in her lap.

"And you as well, Marie…" he looked up from Little Phantom to smile at her, and she returned it.

"Do you mind if I return one of your questions?"

"What would that be?"

"What are your plans now? Do you intend to go back?" She watched him, and he hesitated, moving the straw further out of the kitten's reach.

"No…" he sighed, "I don't think I will go back. Everything I need, want," he looked back at her, "and love…are right here."

"Y—you…?"

"Yes, Marie. I realize now that what you said about love is true…because I feel it for you."

"Oh Erik…" She teared up, and his eyes widened, about to apologize. "I love you too…"

"I know. I could see it in the way you cared for me…but it's good to hear you say it." A few seconds later, there were two confused and annoyed felines looking bewildered at Erik and Marie—the Phantom and the Phantomess.

**Epilogue**

** Erik and Marie** were married a year later. Another extention was made to the cottage, large enough for the couple and their four children. Marie ran the household just as she had practiced all her life. Erik continued to write music, no longer sad and lonely, but now full of hope and life. As no one in the opera house knew his real name, he was also able to write more operas and sell them to the new managers once the building was repaired. Once or twice, they made the journey to attend some of his operas, and he wasn't surprised to see Raoul and Christine in attendance to watch their own children perform. Erik never did speak to Christine. Just seeing her happy and healthy was enough.

As for the drawings, they remained in the cellars for future generations to find and put in museums and galleries, along with the rest of his possessions. By then, the stories of the Opera Ghost would become a legend. The memory of Erik, however, would remain in the hearts of his children, grandchildren, and everyone to whom they told of the gifted man.

**A/N: Please feel free to review! If you have any questions about the contents of this chapter as far as God, prayer, and salvation, feel free to ask! I'd be more than happy to answer or at least try! Thanks again!**


	6. Deleted Scene: Why The Mask?

**A/N: Oh! Did I forget to answer one of Erik's questions? Silly me! LOL Again—I own nothing but Phantomess!**

** A week **after she woke up, Erik was still waiting on her hand-and-foot, repaying her for all the times she cared for him. At one point, when he brought her a mug of soup, he found her sitting up and turning her mask over in her hands. He took his usual seat next to her bed, gently taking the mask and replacing it with the soup. Studying the mask himself, he wondered aloud, "What _was_ your reason for wearing this mask?" At this, she dropped her spoon into the mug.

"I…was wondering when you'd ask that…" She smiled a bit. "Part of it…was…a symbol of my past…how I'd go about my daily chores as usual, but inside I was screaming to escape. The other part was because of how…how my face makes me look far younger, far more naïve, than I actually am. I figured the mask would…cause people to take me more seriously."

"What people? Your family?"

"No…I didn't have that mask until I had seen you…" Her face changed to a sheepish grin. "I…borrowed…some of your plaster materials…"

"That's quite alright, Marie. I was done with them anyway." He smiled reassuringly. "Now…what people are you talking about?"

"You…" she looked him in the eyes.

"I see…" He studied the mask a bit more. "I do see what you mean about your face…but I'm not sure as to whether or not I would have reacted the same had you not worn it. You are a beautiful mademoiselle…there's no doubt about that. I think the mask did help when you argued with me…it was like arguing with a female version of myself…far more logical than I was." Setting the mask aside, he smiled and leaned forward to stroke her forehead and cheek. "But you do not need it anymore. What you struggled with on the inside is no longer hidden. And you need not prove to me that you are far from being naïve."

"Thank you, Erik…"

"No, thank _you_." He looked deep into her eyes then, brushing the back of his hand across her forehead once more before sitting back. "Now…best to eat that soup now…it will be no good to you cold."

**A/N: **_**Now**_** the story is done! Thanks for reading! **


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